


And In Our Faults By Lies We Flattered Be

by ChangHenGe



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangHenGe/pseuds/ChangHenGe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the episode on Thursday 27th January. Syed is still upset with Christian over the surrogacy. Christian tries to think of ways to sort things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In Our Faults By Lies We Flattered Be

Christian let Syed leave the pub first, listening to him make excuses about needing to revise for his non-existent exams, needing to tidy the already pristine flat, needing to start preparation for their as yet unplanned dinner; excuses that weren't so much thinly veiled, as barely touched by their tissue thin veneer of acceptable pretence. Christian remembered when the reason for Syed's lies was to gain some extra time together, to relish in those stolen minutes and hours with him. The knowledge that they are now used to get space away from him creates a nugget of pain that sits heavy in his stomach, festering uneasily amongst the weight of twisted emotion within. It mixes with the annoyance, with Sy for being so bloody _negative_ , with himself for fucking up and just letting himself drive straight ahead without stopping for a second's thought, with damn stupid biological reality that meant they even had to do this like this anyway. It combines with the guilt of knowing damn well what Syed is so angry about, knowing just how furious he would be if Sy had just dived into something so major, but that despite it all he just couldn't resist. It fights for space with the bitterness, that nothing can ever be straightforward, that family or religion or something will always still be lying there waiting to trip them up. And it lies uneasily with the simple, stupid familiar ache of want, he wants Sy, wants Sy to be happy, wants Rox to be happy, uncomplicatedly happy that her best mate has finally found someone worth more than a few weeks of good shagging, and yeah, he wants a kid, wants them to have a family and for him and Sy to be the parents that he wishes they both had had, the parents that he knows they both could be. He doesn't know how it all got so fucked up and now he doesn't feel that anyone could untangle the knots and get them back on keel. Maybe Syed's idea of prayer was not so foolish after all.

One pint later and nothing seems clearer, he can't talk to Roxy, that is pretty clear, not unless he wants to risk testing exactly what Syed meant when he said he'd never forgive him, and just the vision of the frigid determination stealing behind his eyes sparks a thousand shivers to take control of his body. There's Jane, he thinks half-heartedly, but as soon as the idea enters his head he dismisses it immediately. There are some occasions when his elder sister can provide a listening ear, and then there are other times where he wouldn't dare to even raise the topic. But there is Syed, there is always, always Sy, even when Christian has been a tosser, even when he is still half convinced that he hasn't been _that_ much of a tosser to warrant such attitude, even then there is still Syed. And maybe, he tells himself with the optimism that life has somehow failed to beat out of him, an optimism further fuelled by the burst of alcohol that is now skipping happily and carefree through his veins, maybe this time he'll find the right words, the magic words to undo all that is set against them.

It is this ambitious optimism that sends Christian home, drives him up stairs, opens his doors, hopeful again, hopeful beyond all realistic constraints. Yet, maybe it isn't quite so farfetched he considers, as he sees his flowers, not lying beheaded in the bin as he had begun to fear, but instead placed proudly on the table, resting in fresh water, arranged in a vase that he doesn't recognise. Syed is sitting on the sofa, legs tucked underneath him, book in his hands, suddenly looking smaller and younger than he had looked in the pub or in the caff and a flash of tenderness sweetens the bitter taste that had been sitting at the back of his throat.

"Nice flowers."

"Well you bought them. Or did you nick them from a bin on the street?"

"Nah, mugged some bloke for 'em. Figured my need was greater."

Christian isn't completely sure but he thinks that there was a ghost of a smile floating across Syed's face then, and that his shoulders have managed to lose a touch of the tension that had been a regular feature for the past few days.

"Sy—"

"Christian— "

They spoke together and this time Christian is certain that he saw Syed bite back the smallest hint of a smile. Christian moves round so that he rests on the edge of the sofa, stretching out an olive branch in the shape of a strong firm hand reaching towards Syed. A pause that lasts a thousand lifetimes, the time counted out in seconds by a none too patient heart, and then the movement of a slender golden brown hand, a movement that doesn't quite reach halfway, but a movement nonetheless, and two hands are clasped, eight fingers entwined, two thumbs caressing.

"Sy, I just…I don't know what to say to make it better. Everything I do seems to be wrong for you right now." Christian tries again, tries anew, with quietness and insecurity his new found allies.

Syed glances, at their hands, held tight together, at their bodies, sitting uncomfortably apart, at Christian's head, bowed slightly to sit below strained shoulders and a tightened fixed expression of calm. He looks older, stressed and unhappy and right now Syed just feels so tired. Frustrated and weary of this whole week and as if today hadn't been bad enough, some accursed spirit took him on a stupid roundabout trip home that not only took in the Argee but also the house that he used to call home, as if just to make certain that he would be able to hear the sounds of his mother responding to the needy cries of his baby brother. Syed wishes, more than ever, that he could sit with his mother and ask her what it felt like to have a child on the way that you never planned or wanted, how it felt to be torn between the wishes of the man you loved more with all your heart and the instincts of your soul. He had sat on the sofa since leaving the Vic and thought of his mother in labour in the unit, her anguished cries when Kamil entered the world not screaming but silent, of the terrifying fear that filled the air, fearing that your failings and doubts and sin might be used to punish the innocent and the guilty alike. He wishes desperately that he could ask her what it was like to be pregnant with him, whether his existence had once made up for the shame of falling in love. He thought, and wished, and wondered why it was that the one person who might understand him best was the one person with whom he could never talk again.

Syed sat and looked at Christian, at the clear certainties that lay within his mind, at the puzzlement and impatience that filled his eyes when he had to face the parts of Syed that he could never understand. Syed's mind has spun through a thousand possibilities and a hundred things to say, but short of Christian finding a time machine in the middle of the square there doesn't seem any solution but to pray and hope that there will yet be some way out, and there is nothing he can say that doesn't seem likely to lead to places he doesn't want to go or raise issues that he cannot deal with right now.

He shakes his head. "Not now Christian. I just need one night without ripping each other to shreds."

"I thought you were the one who wanted to talk about everything again and again," Christian grumbles to the floor, but he doesn't move his hand away. His head finally raises and there is a look of determination set firm across his jaw. "Dinner?"

"Dinner."

And they sit on the sofa, hands entwined together, hearts hurting apart.

…

"So you really don't like rolls then?"

Syed finishes chewing his final mouthful and opens his mouth, ready for a second to return to old habits, to qualify his earlier statement, to negate and lessen the tone, to fall into the familiar routine of fitting in. But he stops, and remembers, and replies with what Christian considers to fall into the category of 'unnecessary force'.

"I don't _detest_ them. They don't make me sick. But I prefer bagels for breakfast. I guess I'm a bagels man, okay?"

Christian shrugs, although as he looks at Syed's lean fingers idly twisting a fork around, and lets his fierce and resolute tone echo around his body, he can't help notice the small frisson of excitement that starts to rise within.

"Okay, I'm sorry for assuming. You need to tell me these things." Syed narrowly avoided rolling his eyes at the none-too-subtle meaning _. Your subtext is pretty much just text now Christian_ , he thought.

"And you need to listen," he countered, clearer still. _Like a sledgehammer beating it into my brain_ , considered Christian. But Syed's strength and righteous anger does something to Christian, something might be inappropriately timed and might get him a pretty much deserved metaphorical and literal slap in the face, but something that he could never hope or wish to deny.

"I just wondered if there was anything else that I had assumed that you liked but that really you hated." Syed looked at Christian, at the way he leant forward, chin resting on his hand, eyes widened in an innocence that Syed just knew would lead to nothing good, and he frowned in confusion, eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to see where this conversation was going.

"Look, I thought we said no ripping to shreds. Can't we just go to bed and sort this out tomorrow?"

Christian picked up the plates from the table, leaning over Syed's shoulder as he did so, letting his breath warm Syed's neck as he whispered in his ear, "Well I'm with you on the bed part, but as my mother always said, never put off to tomorrow what you can sort out tonight."

"Did you also tell you that sex doesn't solve everything Christian Clarke? Maybe you should try and remember that sometime." Syed's tone was stern, his eyes still appearing unmoved and uninterested, but he couldn't deny the flicker of untimely enthusiasm and desire that rustled through his veins, nor the rapid quickening of his heart as he watched Christian swagger into the kitchen with customary delicious infuriating arrogance.

"Ahh, but she never said that it wasn't fun to try."

And now Syed knows that he should be _really_ pissed off, he ought to be outraged and storming out, railing at a boyfriend whose first line of defence is to hop into bed, but while he attempts to tell his body of this fact, Christian has already returned to stand before him, and has spotted the tell-tale signs of fledging desire. Yes Christian knows exactly what sex can and cannot cure and he's under no illusions that their current impasse falls firmly under the former category. But he also knows that the both of them are currently fervent pits of pent-up tension and frustrated energy just itching to explode, and he'd far rather get it out this way than in a storm of harsh claims and hard-to-take-back words.

"You see," Christian continues, edging slowly forward, watching the clenching of Syed's fists and the tightening of his jaw, "I just need to check _exactly_ what it is that you like, just to make sure that I haven't been getting everything totally wrong all this time. And the thing is…" he leant in closer, so that now Syed could taste his warm breath as it hit his already parting lips, "I always thought you liked this." And he with barely half a step, he closed the final few centimetres that separated them, this lips meeting in a kiss that began gently, softly, but soon fell into something more desperate, more grasping, with tongues colliding and fists gripped tightly in hair and clothes. Finally, with gulps of air they parted, Christian's eyebrow raised questioning as the back of his hand wiped damp residue from his swollen lips. "But maybe I was wrong?"

"It's passable." Syed shrugged, finding a causal tone that belied his heaving chest and his shaking hands.

"Passable?" Christian let his eyes trail noticeably down Syed's body, reading the unspoken words that are displayed there for his attention. "Guess you don't really like this either," he murmurs, running his tongue along the curve of Syed's face behind his ear, letting shards of stubble burn into the soft skin of his lips as he continues a path of pleasure, trawling familiar flesh for remembered sanctuaries of weakness and delight until he falls eagerly and keenly into the sweet hollow of Syed's neck. Syed, fingers aching from their unceasing grip within the folds of Christian's top, wonders briefly if his legs will be able to hold his own weight, but he's damned if he'll let that arrogant know-it-all bastard win just yet.

A swallow, a gasp and a single word forced out through clenched teeth. "Bearable."

And now Christian has to bite back a laugh, some of the unsolvable questions and unbearable frustration taking a temporary backseat to the here and now, the reminder of just how fucking good it feels to lick Syed's flesh, and how damn gorgeous his man looks pouting and teasing with him.

"And this?" he queries, pushing a surprisingly unresisting Syed against the pillar by the kitchen, then diving down, no holds barred as he tugs at Syed's trousers, yanking them to the floor and smiling to himself at the whispered _fuck_ that escaped from Syed's mouth with a gulp of air, and at the indubitable evidence of his desire just begging for his touch. Christian's pretty sure that there are few more idyllic places on earth than here, burying his head in Syed's groin, feeling the tickle of his leg hairs rub against his cheek, running the wet tip of his tongue along to toy with the dampened tip of Sy's cock. And he just knows that there is little better feeling in the world than the exhilaration that comes from feeling Syed tense and shudder with abortive attempts at restraint, knowing all along that he alone has the ability to make him lose himself. Christian may not have found the magic solution to all their problems, but he hasn't lost the key that unlocks Syed's tightly held control, and for that he remains blissfully thankful. He loves this, taking Syed in his mouth, tongue stroking, lips caressing, one hand gripping tight onto Syed's hips, keeping him fixed tight against the pillar, the other wandering to tease his balls, roaming around to play with his perineum, feeling his own arousal increase as Syed bucks and whimpers and grabs forcefully at the short roots of Christian's hair. _Yeah this is the fucking best_ , a single thought now the solitary occupant of the two men's lust filled minds. But just as Syed prepares himself for the longed for ache of release, Christian pulls back, rocking on his heels, and observes the desire flushed cheeks contrasting with the caramel rich skin, the jet black widened eyes shaded by downcast lashes, the needy wanton keens dropping from panting lips, the rock hard, wet cock, demanding the resumption of his talented ministrations.

"So, does this fall in the like or not like category then?"

Syed reaches down and grabs at Christian's top, pulling him up until they stand face to face, one trembling hand fiddling with the zip while the other is dragged through a tangle of curls. "Shut up Christian," he mutters, before realising he has a more reliable method of achieving this aim and pulls Christian's mouth back to his as they stumble away from the pillar. A singular mess of tangled limbs stagger and fall onto the bed, hands rapidly divesting bodies of clothing while mouths seek escape in newly exposed realms of flesh until Syed finds himself lying on his back, staring into a pair of sea green eyes that glint with lust and flicker with firefly lights of excitement.

"Just try telling me you don't like this," Christian murmurs, as slick prepared fingers began to probe, slowly entering and sliding inside Syed, pushing and twisting, seeking and finding his weakness so very very soon and exploiting it for all its worth, sending spasms of intense fire shooting through his veins, dragging low guttural moans and barely coherent pleas from his bruised and swollen lips. "Like it?" Christian asks, his voice nearly cracking with unexpected emotion, his body shaking from the sight of Syed lying so open and respondent to his pleasure. Syed nods, tight-lipped, his pupils dilated as he tips his head further back into the pillow. But right now Christian needs more, and uses his free hand to tilt Syed's chin back, staring into the darkened abyss of his eyes as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

"Tell me Sy, tell me," he demands, the apparent urgency in his voice shocking Syed out of his catatonic daze.

"I like it, you know I do."

"You like me inside you?"

"Fuck Christian, _please_ , just… _please_."

The words have barely made their way out of Syed's mouth before he feels a pair of firm hands gripping hand on his shoulders, flipping him over to rest on top of Christian, letting the red marks of his fingers mar the honeyed flesh.

"C'mon then, show me how much you like it," Christian urges before pulling Syed's head down to meet his and find another bruising, breath-stealing kiss.

Syed slowly worked his way back down the bed, pressing kisses over Christian's body, sucking hard on erect nipples, running his tongue along the line of hair to his navel, scratching his nails the sides of his stomach, grinning as Christian wriggled and twisted in frustrated desire. He sat back on his haunches, letting Christian relax and observed the prone form beneath him, a solitary finger tracing the muscles that lay beneath the surface. He stared at the feline-esque composure, the perfect image of strength now lying in repose but ready to strike at any moment. And as he let his eyes follow the curve of his arms, the tilt of his chin, he met Christian's gaze and saw the tenderness, the care and the love that tempered the wild abandon of wanton lust and the remains of grim surly annoyance and Syed shivered. It was horribly clear that he could never countenance losing this. Not the sex, or not just the sex, but the closeness, the intimacy with this man, the private knowledge of the tenderness and vulnerability that hid behind such obstinate pride and robust brawn. And as he let his finger further draw around sharp cheekbones and onto waiting lips that kiss the tip with a gentle caress, he knows with the same clarity that Christian needs this too, needs him. He grabs this kernel of uncomplicated, sincere love and buries it away, storing it deep inside, ready for him to find it later and cling to during the dark stormy night of the soul.

"Sy." A whisper, a plea and he is dragged back to the present, to the needful body calling for him, to his own aching desire. Teeth dig lightly into lips as hands run lube over Christian's rigid cock. Syed lowers himself down, so slowly he barely dares to breath, inching Christian inside himself with desperate care and full attention. Letting his body adjust, watching the way Christian gulps back his breath, screws up the sheet in clenched fists and forces himself to remain stationary when every cell is crying out for frenzied movement. Fully sheathed inside, Christian's hands grip Syed's hips and together they rock, move, thrust, push and fuck. Grinding together and pulling apart, adjusting until their steady rhythm finds the sweetest of spots that sends dizzying bursts of light to flash in front of Syed's eyes and drives him to move faster, riding wildly into Christian's increasingly frantic thrusts. Nails grip into Syed's back and Christian's shoulder, mouths find curses mixing with ecstatic moans, sweat drips onto heated, dampened flesh until Christian finally grabs Syed's cock and brings him off with uncontrolled shudders and breathless gasps, letting Syed's erratic contracting spasms of delight work to tip him over the edge, losing all control as he falls into the sated splendour of release.

...

Syed turns, sweat tinged locks falling into wearied eyes.

"I'm still pissed off at you."

"I know. And I still don't know what I'm supposed to do to sort things out. I still don't know what you want me to do."

"Talk to me? Treat me like your partner? Listen to what I have to say even if it isn't what you want to hear?"

Syed's bitter tone stings and Christian blinks away a sharp drop of sweat from the edge of his eye.

"It'll be okay. We'll be okay." But whether this is a statement or a question neither man is too sure.

"Yeah."

Inside silence falls.

Outside a thin sliver of moon contests with the cloud covered sky, fighting until a shard of silver light forces its way through the shuttered windows and shines a cold winter glow upon two bodies. They embrace, their bodies a hair breaths apart yet still shivering with their fear of the gaping chasm that threatens to emerge. They lie together and they lie.


End file.
